


Don't Dull The Sparkle In Your Eyes

by DistantShores



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hypnotism, M/M, Mates, Memory Alteration, Minor Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantShores/pseuds/DistantShores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best way to put someone out of harm's way is to remove them from the situation. But when all else fails, can love prevail?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exit Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged with a non-con warning for something that happens in chapter 2. The act itself is consenting but the participants aren't fully aware of the situation.
> 
> [SnowJob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob) is the best for being my editor.

They sit in silence listening to the angry voices outside the hospital room door. The rain out the window only enhances the somber mood of the pack as they gather in Stiles’ hospital room. He can only hear a few words between the droning hums and beeps of the medical equipment he’s attached to but he knows they aren’t pleasant ones. 

“...third time in six months!” Stiles jumps as he hears the sudden boisterous yell of his father’s voice before he is shushed back down to more respectable levels for a hospital. Stiles winces as he tries to focus on the discussion at hand taking place in the hallway between his dad, presumably Scott’s mom, and other hospital staff.

Stiles’ eyes scan his room but aren’t met by anyone elses: Scott is looking at the scuffed floor between his feet, eyes wide in a state of disbelief as he unwillingly but intently listens to the conversation, Lydia is leaning by the window focused on the outside world or anywhere other than where she currently was, while Derek is reclined in the nearby chair, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed but twitching every time the outside voices are raised. All three of them look like they haven’t slept in days but are in much better condition than Stiles, hooked up to a myriad of machines monitoring his condition.

“What...what are they saying?” Stiles asks anyone who will answer. Scott shifts uncomfortably in his chair while the other two remain unphased by Stiles’ inquiry. “Scott? Derek? C’mon, guys,” Stiles pleads. “Lydia can’t but I know you can hear what they’re saying.”

Nobody answers him.

“It wasn’t even that bad this ti-”

“ _This_ time?” Derek snaps angrily as he opens his eyes. “You lost two pints of blood. Any more and you might have died.”

“Bu…”

“What you did was reckless,” Derek continues his rant. “Scott and I can heal. Lydia keeps her distance which is what _you_ should be doing. You can’t keep putting yourself on the front lines like this. Or this is what happens,” he gestures towards Stiles and the tubes and wires.

Stiles was taken back by Derek’s passionate tirade. While he was already hurting physically, Stiles started to feel the emotional pull of the pack. He hears Scott sigh deeply pulling his attention towards him.

“Derek’s right,” Scott reluctantly agrees still looking at his feet. “You’re no good to me if you’re constantly laid up in the hospital. And what would you have me tell your dad? I could never live with myself if…”

“Look. If you want me to say I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay? I’m never going to be someone who will just stand by and idly watch as my friends get the shit beaten out of them or cursed or tortured or whatever hocus-pocus bullshit is going to happen next.”

“Sometimes you have to, Stiles. Humans have more susceptibility to the supernatural,” Lydia calmly says, still watching the rain pelt the window. “And don’t apologize to us. Apologize to your dad who has to front all these hospital bills every time you end up here.”

“So, what do you guys want from me? What’s my role in the pack?”

Stiles’ question is met with silence.

“Guys…?”

“If you keep making these rash decisions, you won’t have a role…” Derek huffs.

“Derek!” Scott snaps at his beta.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” he rises to his feet approaching Scott. “You’ve seen his scars. You heard what his dad-” he stops himself.

“Wait, what?” Stiles asks. “What did my dad say?” he grabs onto Derek’s wrist but Derek remains tight-lipped. “Derek?”

Scott is shaking his head furiously at Derek before Stiles notices him. “Okay, someone tell me what the hell s’goin on before I start ripping my IV out and asking him myself!”

Scott and Derek exchange awkward glances, Stiles’ grip still firmly on Derek’s wrist.

“Your dad can’t afford this,” Lydia finally speaks up. “It’s taking a toll on him financially and physically.”

“Physically?”

“He’s stressing out over you all the time. It’s affecting his work and his health,” she answers.

“How do you…”

“Because he told me,” Scott chimes in. “Because he trusts me to protect you but I can only do so much if you don’t take responsibility for your actions. But it’s been too much for him lately.”

“Too much?”

“He wants me to release you from the pack,” Scott finally blurts out.

Stiles’ hand finally lets go of Derek’s wrist. “Re...release me?”

“He thinks if you aren’t associated with my pack, it’ll put you out of harm’s way.”

“Won’t releasing me make the pack weaker?” Stiles asks.

Scott sighs. “Yes. But it’s a risk we’re going to have to take.”

“But you’re my best friend. If you’re in trouble, I’m gonna be there for you.”

“I know…” Scott trails off.

Stiles’ eyes flick between Lydia, Scott, and Derek who all remain silent in their solemn mood. “You know…? Know what? What aren’t you guys telling me?”

Scott shuffles his feet, kicking the floor as he avoids Stiles’ question.

“Scott. Tell me.”

Scott nervously chews on his lip, shoving his hands into his pockets before finally making eye contact with Stiles. “Your dad… He wants to have you hypnotized.”

“That’s hilarious!” Stiles snickers before he realizes no one else’s expressions changed. “Wait, hypnosis? You’re fucking serious, aren’t you? How is hypnotizing me going to help with anything?”

Derek sits back down in the chair beside Stiles’ bed, drying the palms of his hands across his jeans. “Deaton can do it.”

“When did you guys discuss all of this?” Stiles looks around confused. “And without me?”

“You were in a coma for two days,” Derek gruffly answers. 

Stiles shakes off the stinging comment and puts on a brave facade. “And what? I just won’t be so brazen any more?”

Derek hesitates to answer before looking at Scott for his nod of approval to proceed. “You’ll forget...everything supernatural.”

“For...get? But…” Panic is setting in as Stiles is overcome with emotions, the pace of his heart rate monitor increasing. “Scott?”

“To you, it’ll be like I was never bitten. You won’t know anything that happened after that night that’s associated with the wolves...”

“Or banshees...” Lydia continues. “We’ll still be friends because of school but anything tied to the supernatural world… Anyone you’ve met solely because of it won’t be a part of your memories.”

“Everything else will be the same. You’ll still be my best friend. You’ll still be a high school senior. You’ll still work your job at the coffee house. You just...won’t be part of my pack.”

“And it doesn’t have to be permanent,” Lydia mentions reassuringly as she lightly squeezes Stiles’ foot through the blanket. “Deaton can undo it. Your dad just wants to see how you handle things…”

Stiles scrunches up his face in protest. “And if I refuse?”

“He says he’s shipping you off to Poland,” Scott answers. “As far away as he can get you from Beacon Hills.”

“So, either Deaton plays mad scientist with my brain or I get sent halfway around the world?” Stiles asks the room. Lydia and Scott hesitantly look at each other before turning to Derek to answer.

Derek bites in the inside of his lip before answering. “That’s it.”

“Great choices. Just…” he sighs. “...Great…” Stiles trails off mindlessly as he nervously picks at his fingers. His mind is racing, thinking about how the past few years since Scott was turned have shaped him to who he is today. Eighteen-year-old Stiles wouldn’t be the same if it weren’t for Scott being a werewolf. He thinks back to the night that he and Scott went traipsing into the woods to look for a dead body and Scott was bit by Peter.

“ _What happens after…_ ” Stiles thinks replaying the memories over in his head. Both Lydia and Scott are trying to comfort him with soft smiles while Derek? He won’t even look at Stiles.

“Visiting hours are over for the day,” Melissa announces as she pops her head into the room. “Get on out of here, guys.”

“What about me?” Stiles perks up, eager to be sleeping in his own bed.

“You’ll be released tomorrow if there are no further complications. Everyone else, let’s go.”

Stiles feigns a smile as his fingers trace along the scratchy, hospital blanket watching as his friends slowly leave the room, Melissa holding the door open for them. Scott places his hand on the door frame leaning back into the room around Derek, “Think about it, Stiles. Nobody is going to force you.”

Derek kindly gestures to Melissa, allowing her exit the room before him as he holds the door open with the heel of his foot. He takes a breath in, preparing himself to speak to Stiles but refusing to make eye contact as his eyes dart around the room.

“Derek?”

Derek stammers over his words as he tries to say something, anything to Stiles. “Good night,” he huffs out curtly before letting the door swing closed after him.

Stiles sighs as he sinks his head back into the thin pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles lays on the cold, sterile veterinary table as the metal chills his exposed limbs. He’s surrounded by the McCall pack, Deaton, and his anxious father, pacing endlessly.

“Remind me again what precautions we have to take?” the sheriff asks Deaton for the umpteenth time.

“No exposure to the supernatural. I’m only able to block his memories, not erase them,” Deaton explains. “If Stiles’ brain rediscovers the werewolves or anything else, I’m not sure how he will react. I don’t know if it will recreate memories that already exist. It might simply unlock the hypnosis or it could do irreparable damage.”

“You’re not sounding very confident there, Deaton,” Stiles snarks him. “I hear Poland is absolutely lovely this time of year.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek chides him. Stiles responds by cheekily sticking out his tongue at Derek.

“You all have to make sure Stiles is kept out of the loop,” Deaton instructs as he looks around the room at Scott, Derek, and Lydia. “This won’t be successful unless you all do your part. Be aware of your surroundings when discussing anything pertaining to the supernatural world. Diligence is key. This includes you, sheriff.”

The sheriff immediately turns to his son. “No more police radio, Stiles.”

“Oh come on. Now we’re just being unreasonable,” Stiles protests from the table.

“If you want to start paying for your own hospital bills, be my guest,” his father retorts.

“Do you have any questions, Stiles?” Deaton asks him.

“How much does a flight to Poland cos-OW!” he cries out as his dad smacks the side of his head.

“This is serious, Stiles!”

“Umm…” Stiles pauses as he thinks looking between his friends. “Absolutely nothing will change outside of the supernatural stuff, right? Like, I mean… Scott and I will still be best friends? I just won’t know he’s a werewolf?”

“Correct. I’m going to isolate the memories and lock them in the recesses of your mind. They’ll still be there but you won’t be able to access them. Hopefully, this will keep you away from any danger.”

“I am the danger,” Stiles mutters deeply to blank, unapproving faces. “What? Oh come on! I can’t be the only one who watched Breaking Bad here. We _really_ need to work on your pop culture references,” he points to Scott.

“Now isn’t the time, Stiles,” his dad chastizes him. “We’re doing this for your own good. I wouldn’t allow it if I didn’t think it would be at least a little bit beneficial to you… to us,” he explains squeezing his son’s shoulders.

“Can’t you just like make me scared of wolves or something, Deaton?”

“There’s more than just wolves out there,” Scott says gesturing towards Lydia who flashes an eyebrow raise and a quick smirk. "We'll all be here to help you through this. And if it doesn't work...or we find a better way to protect you, we'll do it."

"Thanks," Stiles smiles in appreciation as he enjoys his last few moments with his pack. "Are there any side effects I should be aware of?"

"Well, you won't know you've been hypnotized but you may feel disoriented and tired for a few days as your mind and body struggle to get used to your new routine," Deaton answers.

"That's nothing new for him," his dad chuckles

"Hey! I take offense to that!" Stiles laughs back. 

“Might also notice an increased frequency in headaches,” Deaton says. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to start the procedure.”

"Alright, doc. Let's do this," he replies back, shimmying his body as he settles himself on the table. His friends and family surround him as Deaton takes his place at the head of the table behind Stiles while Scott, Lydia, and his dad stand by his side. Derek sits distantly across the room, his expression forlorn and broken. Stiles notes how out of character it seems for the usually tough beta but his mind is too preoccupied with Deaton's activities to make a playful comment towards him. "Guess I'll see you all soon?" Stiles says, forcing a fake smile to his face. 

As he rests his head back one final time with his pack around him, Stiles makes ever-so brief eye contact with Derek. Derek's eyes are dark but expressive, saying all of the things that he can't properly emote with his words. Stiles inhales to speak but Deaton's hands fall over his eyes and then across his temples, gently pressing inwards. 

"Just listen to the sound of my voice..." Deaton instructs in a calm and soothing voice. “Listen to it as you feel yourself begin to relax. Feel your feet relax. Feel your legs relax as it travels up your body…” Deaton continues as Stiles wistfully falls into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Order up! Medium chai latté!" Stiles calls out. He turns the cup around to read the name scribbled on the side. "For Scott?"

"You know it's mine, Stiles. I'm the only person waiting here," Scott replies, gesturing to the mostly empty coffee house.

"Sorry. It's a habit!" he grins. He watches as Scott checks his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

"Where is she?" he grumbles under his breath.

"Who? Lydia?" Stiles asks rhetorically. "It's not like it's unusual for her to be late... She runs on her own time."

"I know, I know. We just have somewhere to be." Scott smiles fondly at Stiles. Seeing his best friend just how he remembered him - not bloody, battered, or neck deep in trouble - was a refreshing change. After the hypnosis, aside from a few days of grogginess, Stiles seems to be the same, hyperactive, best friend that Scott has always had by his side. He is so deep in thought that he’s taken off guard when Stiles throws another question his way.

"Where are you guys going?" Stiles asks.

"Just up to the Preserve to-" Scott cuts himself off.

"To? To what?" Stiles asks with a puzzled look on his face.

"Umm..." Scott pauses as he thinks of an excuse.

"Bird watching," Lydia answers as she marches into the store, a pair of binoculars hanging from her neck. "Important project due soon."

"Yeah. Bird watching," Scott winks not-so-subtly at Lydia.

"Don't wink, you idiot! He's still watching us," she whispers.

"Bird watching was the best you could come up with?" he whispers back.

"Yes, it was the best I could come up with! Better than you standing there like a deer in headlights!" she hisses, quietly criticizing him.

"Are you guys okay?" Stiles asks suspiciously. "You've been acting weird all week long..."

"Perfectly fine! Let's go, my fellow ornithologist!" Lydia quickly leads the charge out of the coffee shop, Scott not moving fast enough for her. "Now, Scott!"

"Orni-what? What did you call me?" Scott repeats, confused. "Gotta go, Stiles! See you tomorrow!"

"Enjoy your birds!" he waves them off, watching from behind the counter as they leave the store. 

Stiles stops as he watches Scott and Lydia flag down a sleek black Camaro with heavily tinted windows. They look panicked as they point between the car and the coffee shop before they both look over their shoulder directly at Stiles. The Camaro quickly parks across the street for Stiles' work, mostly out of view of him. Scott and Lydia approach the driver side window, pointing out directions before they walk off towards Lydia's vehicle.

" _Who do they know that drives that?_ " Stiles thinks to himself. Soon after, he watches his father pull up behind the Camaro, lights flashing. "Now things are getting interesting!" Stiles grins to himself watching the action unfold.

Stiles carefully watches as the sheriff gets out of his car in a huff and storms up to the driver's side window, which barely cracks open. His dad is completely obstructing Stiles' view of the mystery man as he clearly rants and raves to the driver, arms flailing angrily. The Camaro soon spins its tires, burning rubber as it peels away. Stiles watches his dad throw his arms up in the air in frustration as he makes his way into the coffee shop.

"Hey, pops!"

"Hey, son," he groans. "Fill it up. Black," he says, passing his travel mug to Stiles.

"Long day?" Stiles asks as he putters around making his dad's order.

"Yeah. You could say that..."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Nope!" he answers hastily. "Uhh... No. Thank you, though!" he quickly corrects himself.

"Who was that driving that Camaro?" Stiles asks nonchalantly as he empties the carafe into his dad's mug.

His dad looks at him, confused. "Der-"

He stops.

"Der-?"

"Derputy. Deputy. The new deputy."

"New deputy? Aside from Parrish?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you say derputy?"

"Don't question me, boy. I get enough of that at the station."

Stiles sighs handing his mug back to his dad. "It's on the house."

"I should hope so," his dad winks.

Stiles glances out the window behind his dad and watches with his eyes as the black Camaro makes another pass of the coffee shop, driving slow enough to realize he’s being watched by whoever is behind the wheel. As the Camaro falls out of sight again, Stiles notices several people heading towards the entrance of the store.

“Gotta go, dad. Looks like I’m getting the evening rush,” he gestures towards the entrance.

“Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. See you after work!”

“Thanks!” Stiles rushes to the door to the back room, “Caitlin, can I get some help at storefront?”

“Sure, be right out!” she calls back.

Stiles quickly throws on another pot of coffee, watching through the crowd as the Camaro makes yet another not-so-subtle pass of the store.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Stiles asks as he greets the first of many customers filtering in the door.

“Pumpkin spice latté, please.”

“Sure. What size?”

“Medium.”

Stiles and Caitlin work into a fury rushing around behind the counter, dodging around each other as drinks are being poured and brewed.

“Hey. Tall, dark, and handsome is making eyes at you,” Caitlin whispers on a pass-by.

“Who? I can’t look right now.”

“Scruffy and suave. At your 5 o’clock.”

Stiles quickly peeks over his shoulder mid-order but can’t pick anyone out of the crowd who’s looking at him. “Are you sure?”

“Quite,” she winks. “Don’t worry so much about it. Just enjoy the flattery and do your thing. He probably has a great view of your ass right now,” she elbows him playfully in the ribs.

“Does it look alright?” he asks her with legitimate concern in his voice.

“It’s fine. Come on, we’re almost done.”

Stiles wipes his brow as he puts the final order in his customer’s hand.

“There’s still one drink left?” Caitlin notices it sitting on the counter.

Stiles picks it up checking the order. “Large americano?” he calls out into the shop scanning through the few remaining guests. Stiles’ eye catches a well-built man leaning against the counter with just the right amount of scruff and facial hair shaping his jaw line and without a drink in his hands. Stiles quickly gives the mystery-man the once over: tight, well filled-out t-shirt with a pair of aviators hanging from the collar, fitted jeans and boots, and eyes you could get lost in for days.

“For…” he spins the name around, looking between the man and the drink. “Peter?”

“Oh,” a toothy grin flashes in Stiles’ direction. “That’s me.”


	2. R U Mine?

Stiles can feel the growing lump in his throat, and his pants, as he struggles to maintain his composure while being stared down by the handsome man in front of him. He feels like a piece of meat being torn apart by his striking blue eyes. Like the predator has found its prey and is calculating its next move before going in for the kill. Everything about the moment feels wrong. Something in the back of Stiles’ mind is telling him to run as far away as possible but he stands his ground, curious, intrigued to see what happens next.

“H...here you go,” Stiles nervously says and he hands the drink to Peter.

“Thanks,” Peter responds, drawing out the ‘s’ sound a little longer than necessary, his fingers brushing over Stiles’ hand as he takes the cup into his own hands. “Have a _great_ day.”

“Who was that?” Caitlin asks as they both watch Peter leave the store. 

"I...I don't know..." Stiles answers scratching the back of his head. He braces himself against the counter as an intense pressure builds in his skull. 

"Hey. Are you okay?" Caitlin asks with concern, supporting Stiles with her arm. 

"I think so? My head hurts," Stiles groans as he massages his eyes. 

"You sure?"

Stiles doubles over in pain, nearly falling to the ground as he tightly grips onto the counter and Caitlin's arm. "No..."

"Maybe you should head home. I can handle the rest and close up on my own."

"Yeah. Yeah I'll do that," he agrees, slowly removing his coffee-stained apron. "Thanks, Cait."

Stiles wobbles as he carefully exits his work, taking a moment to brace and steady himself as he makes his way down the street. He looks at his Jeep parked around the corner and watches as it blurs in and out of focus. He stumbles his way towards the driver's side door, struggling to get the key into the lock. He lets out a deep sigh as he crawls onto the seat, cracking the window open for fresh air, resting his head and hands onto the steering wheel, the searing pain in his head now a dull ache. He's startled when he hears a knock on the side of his Jeep. 

"You okay?" an unfamiliar voice asks.

Stiles looks up to see the same man from the coffee shop peering into his Jeep. 

"I saw you stumbling your way to your car here and was concerned for your well-being," Peter says sipping his coffee. 

Stiles still feels wary with his situation; Peter leering, his arm stretched above his head and resting against the top of the door frame, lifting the hem of his shirt high enough to expose a small strip of toned skin along his hip that Stiles can't help but sneak a quick peak at. "I'm good," he replies curtly.

He lied. 

Stiles knows it. 

Peter knows it. 

Stiles just doesn't know that Peter knows it.

"Are you sure, Stiles?"

He freezes, staring at Peter in disbelief, dull ache in the back of his head surging forward as Peter continues to smile. "H..how do you know my name?"

Peter laughs, tapping his own chest. "Name tag. You're still wearing it." Stiles looks down at his shirt, reading his own name and laughs nervously. "You okay to drive?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Not yet. I'll wait it out."

"Have anyone you can call?"

"My dad, if he's not busy."

"Let me give you my number. Just in case. You never know what could happen," Peter smirks.

Stiles doesn't react, staring at his phone. "O...okay," he eventually says reluctantly handing over his phone to Peter.

"Always good to have someone you can call when in need," he winks at Stiles, as his eyes flick between the phone and Stiles' blushing face. “Here,” Peter says, handing Stiles back his phone. “Take care of yourself.” 

“Th...thanks,” Stiles manages to muster out between his pounding head and heart. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and gives himself several minutes to calm down before making the short drive home.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles hears a knocking on his bedroom door late in the evening. “Come in,” he calls out from his bed, a cold, damp cloth draped over his eyes.

“Hey. I went by to get a refill and Caitlin said you left early.” his father asks. “Everything okay?”

“Bad headache, or maybe a migraine. I dunno. I’m trying to rest it off.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Stiles sits up in bed, wiping the moisture off of his face. “Didn’t seem like that big of a deal. I’ve taken some tylenol. Worst of it seems to be over.”

“Next time, call me,” he orders. “Get some sleep. School early in the morning.”

“Thanks, dad. G’night.”

Stiles rolls over to check his phone, still on the contacts page where Peter added his number. He sighs as he thinks back to earlier when Peter was eyeing him. Multiple times. Yet he seemed kind enough to help him out. He decides to text him:

Stiles: _Hey its stiles from the coffee shop. Thanks for your help today_

He puts the phone back down, re-positions the cloth over his eyes and lays back down. He’s soon startled by a text message notification.

Peter: _No problem. Glad I could help. Feeling better?_  
Stiles: _Somewhat. Still have a bit of a headache_  
Peter: _Working tomorrow?_  
Stiles: _Just school_  
Peter: _Any weekend plans?_  
Stiles: _Not yet_  
Peter: _Want to make some? Maybe grab a drink?_

“ _Holy shit. Is he asking me on a date?!_ ” Stiles eyes go wide as he reads the last text message over and over again. His heart is beating loudly in his chest as he nervously types a reply:

Stiles: _Im only 18..._  
Peter: _You’re not saying no_  
Stiles: _But i cant buy any drinks_  
Peter: _Don’t worry. I know a place. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 8 at the coffee shop. See you then_

Stiles looks at his phone in disbelief. He has a Friday night date with a charming, handsome, and rugged man who genuinely seems interested in him. He smiles as he lays his phone back down, relaxing onto his pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~

The bell rings, signalling the end of class for the day as Stiles meets up with Scott and Lydia. “How were your feathered friends?” he asks Scott as they walk down the hall towards their lockers.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Scott asks with a puzzled look on his face.

“You went bird watching yesterday,” Stiles reminds Scott.

“Bird watching?” Scott repeats.

“At least, that’s what you told me,” Stiles says narrowing his eyes, his suspicions raised.

Lydia elbows Scott hard in the ribs. “Clearly, I did all of the work,” she smiles. “And it was fine. Lots of sightings.”

“Oh, right!” Scott clues in. “So many birds!”

“Uh...huh…” Stiles doesn’t believe a word either of them are saying but doesn’t press the issue. He reaches his locker and spins the combination lock open.

“You are _terrible_ at this,” Lydia whispers to Scott out of earshot of Stiles.

“Sorry! It’s been two weeks and I’m still not used to it,” Scott apologizes profusely. “He’s been with me since the beginning. It’s hard not talking to him about this stuff!”

“I know. You need to be more careful or all of this is going to be for naught and he’ll be back in the hospital before we know it. Either that or Poland.”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Stiles asks peering back from his locker.

“Birds,” Scott quickly answers with a smile on his face resulting in an eyeroll from Lydia. “So many birds!”

Lydia sighs. “Why do I even bother…” she grumbles under her breath burying her face in her hands.

Stiles’ eyes flick between Scott and Lydia before he focuses in the distance between them on a man dressed nearly all in black charging towards them at a frightening pace. Before Stiles has a chance to react, the man has shoved himself between Scott and Lydia throwing Scott to the ground and quickly has Stiles pinned up against the lockers by his throat, forearm pressing hard across Stiles’ collar bone.

“What the fu-!” Stiles cries out in pain as the man shoves his full weight against Stiles.

“Stay the fuck away from him, if you know what’s good for you!” the man berates Stiles, his breath hot against Stiles’ skin. He pulls his arm back letting Stiles collapse to the ground and storms off down the hall just as quickly as he arrived.

“Oh my god, Stiles. Are you okay?!” Lydia asks, rushing to his aid.

Stiles coughs and sputters as he struggles to breathe. “I think so. What the hell was that all about?!”

Scott rises to his feet dusting himself off before tending to Stiles. “No idea…”

“Dude, wasn’t that Derek Hale? He’s only a few years older than us. I think his family all burned to death in a fire, like, thirteen years ago?”

Stiles stands by idly as Scott and Lydia look nervously at each other, wondering just how much Stiles actually remembers and if any of the hypnosis has been undone after the encounter with Derek. “Never seen him before…” Scott lies.

“Thirteen years ago? I don’t remember that at all…” Lydia also lies.

“Oh...” Stiles says dejectedly. “Maybe my memory isn’t what it once was.”

“Stay away from who?” Scott asks about Derek’s warning.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Stiles answers rubbing his sore collar tenderly as he picks himself up off the ground. “I’ve never met him before in my life. I dunno what he’d want with me. Must be a case of mistaken identity.”

Scott and Lydia give a sigh of relief as their cover isn’t blown. “I’ll be right back!” he shouts out as he rushes down the hallway after Derek.

Stiles intently watches Lydia’s face as she follows Scott with her eyes, rolling them until they meet with Stiles’. “Wh...what? Is there something on my face?” she stumbles over her words.

“You know him,” he accuses Lydia. “Or at least Scott does.”

Lydia purses her lips but doesn’t answer.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She shuffles awkwardly on her heels for a few seconds before staring into Stiles’ eyes.“It’s for your own good,” Lydia blurts out and hurriedly storms off after Scott, leaving Stiles alone at his locker.

Stiles looks around the now mostly empty hallway, confused and bewildered at the recent events and his friends’ sudden erratic behavior. His head is slightly aching, presumably from being thrown into the lockers. “Ugh, not now,” he groans checking his phone for the time. “I don’t have time for this! I have my date in four hours!” He quickly shuts his locker, throwing his bag over his shoulder and rushing in the opposite direction towards his Jeep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles spends more time waffling over what pair of underwear to don than he does in the shower. If he’s going to get laid, as he assumes from the way Peter spent their entire conversation eye-fucking him, he wants to be looking his best. He eventually decides on a red and black jockstrap which hugs the curve of his ass and gives him a nice, pronounced bulge at the front.

He spends a couple minutes admiring his legs and jock-strapped bubble butt in the mirror before sliding his jeans up over his ass, which he then spends a few more minutes shaking back and forth as he dances around his room, grabbing a condom from his nightstand in the process. 

Only when his dad knocks on his bedroom door does he cease booty shaking, subtly sliding the condom into the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, what’s up?” Stiles asks his father.

“Just heading out to work for the evening. Where are you off to?”

“Just meeting a friend for dinner.”

“A friend?” his dad questions him.

“Yeah, a regular from the coffee shop. Should be home at a reasonable hour but if not, I’ll let you know.”

“You better. And any headaches like yesterday, call me and I’ll come get you,” he orders sternly.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles smiles fondly. “See you later!” he waves his dad off and resumes dancing around his room. He throws on a fitted button up, glancing in the mirror at the fresh bruises forming along his collarbone. He tugs on his shirt collar to conceal the superficial wounds and bounces down the stairs and out the door on the way to the coffee shop to meet Peter.

He stops his Jeep in the parking lot and strolls his way around the building. He doesn’t even reach the storefront before he finds Peter leaning up against the wall, seeming somewhat anxious and nervously looking around. He’s wearing a similar outfit to the day before: tight fitted jeans, deep V-neck t-shirt, aviator sunglasses. He spots Stiles walking towards him, removing his sunglasses as a devilish smile lights up his face. “Hey, good lookin,” he catcalls. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show up.”

“Well, I’m here!” Stiles replies, the air around them feeling bristly, a slight twinge building in the back of Stiles’ skull.

“Relax,” Peter calmly instructs, his hand finding placement on the small of Stiles’ back making him jump at Peter’s touch. “We’re gonna have a good night together.”

“Sorry, I’ve just never been on a date with a customer from work before…” he apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it. Instead of a customer, think of me as a friend,” Peter smoothly answers as his arm wraps around Stiles’ hip, tugging on the hem of Stiles’ shirt. “What’s that?” Peter asks as the top button of Stiles’ shirt had folded open, revealing the dark purple marks that lined his upper chest.

“N...nothing. Just got roughed up at school a bit.”

Stiles winces as Peter lightly traces a finger along the bruises. “Still sensitive, huh?” Peter replies as he brings his finger up to his nose.

“Did you just...smell my bruise?” Stiles asks thoroughly confused and slightly creeped out.

“Huh? Oh no! Itchy,” Peter replies, quickly scratching the underside of his nose. “C’mon. Let’s go,” he quickly comments, guiding and somewhat pushing Stiles with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. “It’s not far from here.”

Stiles looks at Peter’s hand as it falls on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the same black Camaro from the previous day, idling down a secluded alleyway. He still can’t clearly see whoever is behind the wheel but he’s quite aware that someone is watching him.

Peter and Stiles make small talk as they walk through Beacon Hills, getting to know each other. At least Stiles is getting to know this version of Peter. Peter already knows everything he needs and wants to know about Stiles.

They soon reach the cocktail lounge Peter spoke of and are greeted by a rather large and intimidating bouncer who takes one look at Stiles’ baby face and starts chuckling to himself.

“And he’s over 21?” he questions rhetorically.

“He can be,” Peter slyly says, sliding a crisp $100 bill into the bouncer’s shirt pocket.

The bouncer looks between his pocket, Peter, Stiles, and back to Peter before stepping aside, removing the velvet rope that barricaded the entrance way.

“But… You just gave him $100 so I could get in the bar?!” Stiles gasps astounded at how frivolous Peter was with his money.

“It’s all worth it,” Peter winks at him, making Stiles blush. “Go on in,” he orders letting Stiles take the lead as they ascend the stairs with Peter close behind. Peter’s hands find their home on Stiles’ waist, flirting with his belt loops on every step until the stairway opens up in to a dull lit bar. 

Stiles stops at the top of the stairs to take everything in as he looks around the fairly crowded establishment, bass from the loud music pounding through his body. Peering through the crowd, he spots someone across the bar staring back at him but the lighting makes it too difficult to establish any distinguishing features. His gaze is broken when he’s bumped from behind as Peter reaches the top of the stairs after him. Stiles stumbles forward but is caught when Peter’s arms wrap around him, pulling him tight against his body. 

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes into Stiles’ ear, stubble grazing against the back of his neck.

“I...it’s fine!” Stiles quickly shrugs it off, Peter’s chest still snug against his back, his hands still tightly gripping his body. He can feel the heat emanating from Peter as they stand entwined with each other hips slightly moving to the rhythm of the music.

“Did you want something to drink?” Peter asks.

“Sure!” Stiles exclaims, excited at the thought of underage alcohol consumption.

Peter leads the charge through the crowd towards the bar, Stiles in tow, their hands clasped together. Soon, Stiles’ hand is filled with a small tumbler of ice and hard liquor, presumably whiskey by the strong smell it’s giving off. Peter’s drink looks slightly different in color but he doesn’t question it.

“Cheers!” Peter says as they raise their glasses together in a toast.

Stiles takes a larger than expected swig, trying his best to impress Peter. The alcohol stings and burns his throat making his eyes water, leaving him coughing for breath.

“You okay?” Peter asks, yelling over the music.

“Yeah,” he coughs. “I’ll be fine. Wow! That stuff is strong!”

“Here,” Peter guides him towards another staircase. “Let’s go somewhere where it’s less crowded and a little quieter where we can talk.”

Peter slips the second bouncer another sum of money, amount unseen by Stiles. He waves Peter and Stiles further upstairs to a VIP section which contains smaller rooms sectioned off by dark curtains. The rooms are lined with black, leather couches, glass tables illuminated with black lights in the center.

Peter motions to Stiles with his hand to have a seat and promptly sits down beside him, their thighs making contact as Peter leans back to relax. The curtains pull open as a waitress slides between them, entering their VIP booth. She drops off two bottles of liquor, vodka and something Stiles can’t identify, along with various mixers. Stiles watches with his eyes as she leaves the room. As she pulls the curtain shut behind her, Stiles spots the same man who attacked him at school pass by their VIP booth, glancing inwards at Stiles. A hand squeezing Stiles' leg draws his attention back to his date.

“Have another drink!” Peter suggests pointing to the array of beverages in front of them on the table.

Stiles picks up the second bottle lacking labels inspecting it closely. 

Peter pulls the bottle from Stiles’ hands and takes it into his own. “This one’s for me! Special order.”

“What is it?” Stiles asks comparing it to the bottle of vodka still on the table.

“Vodka. But it’s got a little something extra,” he winks as he pours some over ice.

Stiles looks between the bottle Peter is holding and the one now in his hands, eying them both suspiciously before shrugging and pouring himself a new drink. About to take a sip, Stiles is interrupted by this phone vibrating in his pocket.

Scott: _Where are u_  
Stiles: _On a date!_  
Scott: _Where are u? Im coming to get u_

Stiles groans and doesn’t reply. He glances between his phone and Peter, leaning back onto his shoulder and snaps a quick selfie of their date night.

“Too dark,” Stiles grumbles. “Let me turn on the flash.”

“No, don’t!” Peter shouts knocking the phone to the floor.

“What the hell?!” Stiles snaps at him.

“Sensitive eyes,” Peter answers. Stiles gives him a stern look while struggling to maintain composure as the throbbing pain starts surging through his head. “Just had laser eye surgery done.”

“Well you didn’t have to react like that! That phone is expensive!” Stiles bends over to search for his phone on the floor as Peter rolls his eyes behind Stiles’ back.

Stiles’ shirt rides up as his jeans fold open at the base of his spine, exposing the thick elastic of his jockstrap and the top of his ass crack to the air. Peter leans over with Stiles, his hand sliding under the elastic of Stiles’ underwear. “Very nice,” Peter hums into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles gasps at Peter’s rough touch. He can’t help but arch his back and curve into Peter’s hand as it flirts with his waistline.

“You like that?” Peter purrs.

“Do you?” Stiles retorts. “I wore them just for you.”

“You’re not going to be wearing them for much longer if you keep this up,” Peter flirts, his hand sliding further and further down the back of Stiles’ pants.

“That’s the plan,” Stiles seductively whispers back.

“Come on,” Peter orders as he grabs Stiles’ wrist, leading him out of the curtained booth and quickly through the VIP area. He pushes Stiles into the restroom first, slamming the door behind him and securing the deadbolt. He lunges at Stiles, hands gripping the back of Stiles’ thighs as he lifts him up onto the counter, positioning himself between Stiles’ legs.

Stiles is about to compliment him on his strength when Peter’s lips land on his, feverishly kissing and nibbling at Stiles, hands running through his hair. Stiles legs wrap around Peter’s waist, pulling him in closer.

Peter’s mouth explores Stiles’ as he kisses and licks his way along his jawline, burying his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply. “God, you smell so good.”

‘ _Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before…_ ’ Stiles thinks to himself, trying to suppress the dull headache that’s been steadily building since he met up with Peter. Stiles throws his head back as Peter’s oral assault on his skin continues, leaving it red and swollen. 

Peter yanks Stiles by the waist pulling him off the counter as he leans his weight onto him, slapping and pawing at his clothed ass. “I wanna see it,” he growls into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles puts on his best seductive look as he turns around and slides his jeans down to his ankles, showing his jockstrapped ass to Peter. Peter lets out a low moan as he exhales. Stiles leans over slightly onto the counter, giving Peter a full view. Peter steps forward pushing the crotch of his jeans against Stiles’ bare ass, arms on either side of him against the counter. He leans into Stiles’ ear, staring at him intensely through his reflection in the mirror, “You want it, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” Stiles simply answers back pushing his ass back against Peter’s hardening bulge.

“Want me to bend you over and fuck you right here?” he asks spanking Stiles so hard he leaves a red handprint on his cheek.

“Yeah. I need to be fucked,” Stiles begs.

“Good boy. I love a boy who knows what he wants.”

Peter aggressively pushes Stiles down, flat against the counter and kicks his leg out to widen his stance, his ass spread and hole exposed for Peter, the front of his jock pushing hard against the edge of the counter as it struggles to contain Stiles’ growing arousal. Peter takes a step back and crouches to admire Stiles’ position. “You look good like that.”

“Is this how you want me?” Stiles asks, still bent over and looking back at Peter.

“Yeah. Let me see you,” Peter coerces Stiles, softly rubbing the back of his thighs. 

Stiles reaches back with his hands spreading himself wider for Peter. “How’s that?” Stiles asks playfully.

Peter doesn’t answer with words. He leans in and runs his tongue from the back of Stiles’ jock and over his hole. “Oh fuck…” Stiles whimpers as Peter rims him hard and deep, the scruff on his chin rubbing against Stiles’ skin with each lick of his tongue.

A sudden knock on the door startles Stiles causing him to jump and instinctively reach for his jeans to pull them back on.

“I locked it,” Peter explains quietly, pushing Stiles' jeans back down to the floor. “Don’t worry. Nobody is going to bother us,” he continues as he bends Stiles back over teasing a finger around Stiles’ twitching hole before sliding it in, much to Stiles’ enjoyment. With his other hand, Peter unbuckles and unzips his jeans, letting them drop to the floor as he kneels back on the ground behind Stiles. He changes between teasing Stiles’ ass with his finger and tongue as he watches Stiles writhe around under his touch.

"Moan for me, boy," Peter purrs. 

As Stiles opens his mouth, Peter quickly slides two fingers deep inside Stiles' hole, knuckles stretching him out. "Ahh! Oh my god..." Stiles moans with pleasure as Peter repeats the process vigorously. 

The knock on the door repeats.

“OCCUPIED!” Peter jumps to his feet shouting angrily out of character from the man Stiles was still getting to know. Peter can tell Stiles is alarmed, his heart beating fast. He softly rubs Stiles’ back to calm him down. “I’ll take care of you. Gonna fuck you real good,” he says gripping Stiles waist pulling him back against his bulging boxer briefs.

For a third time, the knock repeats. Much louder.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Peter mutters under his breath but loud enough that Stiles can hear him. “OCUPADO. WHAT DO YOU NOT FUCKING UNDERSTAND?” he roars.

Stiles stares at Peter’s reflection with worried eyes, admittedly somewhat terrified of the man he’s about to have sex with, the ache in his head surging forward. 

Peter bends over Stiles, resting his chest onto Stiles’ back. He cradles Stiles’ jaw with his hand, bending his neck back where Stiles’ eyes meet Peter’s in the reflection. They suddenly flare bright blue with intensity. “Gonna breed your hole nice and slow. Make you mine,” he hisses into Stiles’ ear. 

"Wait, what? Breed?!"

“PETER!” a voice screams angrily from the other side of the door.

Peter’s eyes go wide as he looks between Stiles and the door.

“Who is that?!” Stiles asks.

“Jilted ex?” Peter shrugs knowing full well who it is as he positions himself between the door and Stiles.

The hammering continues and grows louder as cracks begin to form in the wood around the deadbolt and hinges. Stiles grabs his jeans and quickly pulls them back on, mesmerized by the door seemingly falling apart in front of him and Peter. 

The door splinters to pieces. On the other side is the scruffy faced man dressed all in black. The same one who threw Stiles up against the lockers earlier in the day. Screams erupt from outside the restroom as the club patrons scatter out of the VIP section.

“You? You’re Derek Hale?” Stiles questions.

Derek’s immediately aggressive expression softens as he hears Stiles call out his name. He snaps his head in Stiles’ direction. “What do you remember?”

“Re...remember? What are you talking ab-AAH!” Stiles is cut off as the pain in his skull becomes almost unbearable.

“Stiles!” Derek calls out, taking a step forward before Peter cuts him off.

“Back off. He’s mine,” Peter growls.

“Fuck off, Peter,” Derek growls back. “And put some fucking pants on!”

“We wouldn’t have this problem if you would have just left us alone!”

“Shut the fuck up!” he orders. “Or I’m going to rip your fucking dick off!”

“Is that any way to talk to family?” Peter pleads mockingly as he takes a swing at Derek.

Among all of the sudden familiarity, everything becomes crystal clear for him.

Stiles cracks.

The hypnosis shatters.

He cries out in pain as his mind is flooded with an onslaught memories, both old and “new” made over the past two weeks. The air rushes out from his lungs as he slumps to the floor, gasping for breath. 

As Derek rushes over to Stiles’ side, Peter takes another opportunity to charge at Derek, but he’s prepared. Derek’s foot swings around as he roundhouse kicks Peter, sending him crashing through the metal stalls.

“Stiles? Stiles, are you okay?” Derek calmly asks, his breathing hitched and panicked, face covered in a cold sweat.

“Derek?! The hell is going on?!” he gasps for air.

“Don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” Derek faintly smiles wiping the sweat from Stiles’ brow.

“Like hell it will be!” Peter roars as he throws himself towards Derek, pinning him up against the wall, claws drawn and baring his teeth, porcelain tiles on the wall crashing to the ground.

Stiles watches helplessly as the two werewolves fight with each other in the tightly enclosed space of the restroom. His brain goes into fight-or-flight mode as he begins to panic, adrenaline running wild. Peter and Derek go crashing by him again and Stiles takes the opportunity to run.

“Stiles! Wait!” Derek calls out after him as he takes a punch to the jaw, but his cries fall on deaf ears.

Stiles bolts down the stairs and out the door of the club with the rest of the crowd and onto the late night streets of Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the whole reason for the non-con warning. It's consensual for the state Stiles is in but if he knew who Peter was, it wouldn't happen. So tagged/warned.
> 
> Thanks to the ever-awesome [SnowJob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob) for being my sounding board.


	3. Reload

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to [Snowjob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob) for the proofing and grammatical help.
> 
> Sorry for the long delay between updates. I've been working away on this but my editing partner-in-crime has been busy and I don't like posting without someone reviewing my work first. Chapter 4 is almost done so I hope it won't be six months between chapter releases next time.

Stiles recognizes the sound of the Camaro engine in the distance before it even pulls onto his street.

The sound of soft footsteps on the roof over his bedroom confirm his suspicions.

He hears a light knock on the open window before Derek peers inwards, trying to be polite and not overstep any boundaries. "Stiles?" he hears him softly call out into his bedroom. The lights are off and the room is dark with the exception the crack of light shining under his bedroom door from the hallway. 

"You can come in, Derek," Stiles eventually answers back.

Derek enters the room, the smell of blood strong on his clothes, only overpowered by the smell of arousal and sexual frustration still lingering on Stiles’ skin. Stiles is sitting knees tucked close to his chest, back resting against the headboard of his bed. Stiles watches as Derek pulls out his phone and calls someone, presumably Scott, Stiles only able to hear one side of the conversation.

"Yeah, I found him. He seems to be okay. No, don't worry about it. I'll talk to him."

He looks up at Derek and smiles faintly. Derek's reaction isn't as pleasant as he scrunches up his face.

"I must reek of him..."

Derek doesn't say anything back but what Stiles can see of his face through the darkness says it all.

"Where is..."

"I took care of him," is all Derek says.

"Took care of-?"

"Don't worry about it!" Derek snaps. Stiles jumps. "Sorry."

Stiles shrugs. "Just on edge I guess..."

Derek motions towards the edge of Stiles' bed, sitting once he gets a silent nod of approval from Stiles.

"You know...If you hadn't shown up when you did, I would have had sex with him," Stiles says, unprompted for the information.

Derek listens silently.

"I just...He was so charming and I was caught up in the moment and he showed me affection I hadn't had before and… I feel so gross."

Derek reaches out and rubs Stiles' foot. "You don't need to explain to me what happened. And it’s not your fault. You weren’t you and he took advantage of the situation."

"Thanks," Stiles warmly smiles while fighting back tears. 

"Don't...Wh... Why are you crying?"

"Why? Why, Derek?" Stiles repeats as tears slowly roll down his cheeks. "I failed. I mean... I couldn't last more than two weeks before this damn hypnosis plan fell apart. I guess I just have a penchant for trouble or something,” he sobs. “And I don't want to go to Poland! I don't even speak Polish! I like Beacon Hills despite all its eccentricities," he motions towards Derek with a wave of the back of his hand. "And here I thought I might actually have a hope in hell of staying here, still being friends with Scott and..." he looks at Derek, catching his breath as Derek stares at the floor during Stiles' tirade. "You!” he takes on an accusatory tone. “Were you even going to tell me that I'd forget about you when I was hypnotized?!"

Derek doesn't answer.

“You knew damn well I was going to forget about you but you didn’t say a fucking thing! You didn’t even have to. It was written all over your face! I just had no idea,” he yells at Derek. “You guys said _everything_ would be the same but you lied to me! You lied!" he continues with his hostility. "I remember _everything_ that happened in the last two weeks... How you were driving by the store? You warned me! You even _warned_ me but I had no idea because I forgot who Peter was too!”

"It was all done to protect you, Stiles. We wouldn't have done it if we didn't think it was worth a shot."

“Well a whole lot of damn good that did, huh?”

“If we told you everything, you wouldn’t have gone through with it!” Derek finally snaps, balling his hands into fists.

“Of course I wouldn’t have, Derek! You! I forgot _you_!” Stiles snaps back just as quickly. Stiles notices Derek is a bit taken back by his outburst so he calms himself before continuing. “I’m sorry… I just…” he wipes his nose on his arm. “Looking back on it, I guess it was weird not having you around, ya know? I figured I’d keep all my friends and just not know you were all supernatural. I know you guys tried and I appreciate that. But I'm allowed to feel discouraged, okay? Especially when you don’t tell me everything!

Derek huffs, accepting Stiles' apology.

“It’s hard being the only human sometimes." Stiles’ last comment doesn’t warrant a reply nor does he receive one as they sit in awkward silence on Stiles’ bed. "At least I'm in my own bed and not a hospital for a change?" he forces a smile upon his face wiping away the remaining tears.

Stiles sees a slight smirk on Derek's face as Derek pushes himself of the bed retrieving a tissue for Stiles.

"So, now what? We'll have to tell my dad..." he blows his nose.

"We will, Stiles. No sense in worrying him now, though." Derek picks up Stiles' towel, still sitting on the back of his desk chair and tosses it onto Stiles' bed. "Go get cleaned up. It'll make you feel better."

Stiles hooks the towel with his toes, dragging it up to his hands, still feeling the dampness from his earlier shower. "If you say so..." he sighs forcing himself off of his bed. 

He finally gets a good look at Derek as he opens the door out of his bedroom, illuminating him in the hallway light. "Holy shit! You're a fucking mess!" he exclaims. Derek's clothes are mostly shredded; the pieces that are still intact are covered in dried blood. "Are you okay?! You're not hurt, are you?"

Derek shakes his head. "Only superficial wounds,” he answers inspecting his torso, the curves and muscles of his body peeking through the shredded shirt. “And they've all more or less healed up now."

"Well, that's a relief. You better not have gotten any blood on my bed! My dad'll kill me!"

"At least that way you won't have to go to Poland?" he jokes back. 

"Smartass!" Stiles snaps his towel at Derek who easily swats it away. "I'll grab some sweats from my dad's closet. You can throw them on for something to wear. Give me a few minutes to shower and can you _try_ not get blood on every surface of my room?" Derek rolls his eyes as he playfully pushes Stiles out of his own room. “AGH GROSS!” Stiles shrieks as he runs away from Derek. “You better not have bloodied my shirt!”

~~~

Derek chuckles to himself as he strolls around Stiles’ room, pacing aimlessly to avoid transferring any leftover wet blood. Several minutes later, Stiles returns, his damp hair in a state of disarray that somehow still looks good, a look that only someone like Stiles can pull off. “Hey, can you help me out?” he asks, arms full of clothes and a towel for Derek. “Just grab the stuff on top and the towel,” he says struggling to keep everything in his hands.

“Just this?” Derek questions as his hands reach into the pile of fabric.

“Yeah. Stuff on the bottom is mine.”

Derek tries to take a step back with his possessions but his hand is snagged on something amidst the pile in Stiles’ arms.

“I’m caught,” Derek tugs.

“Whoa, hold on,” Stiles replies as he pulls away from Derek to no avail. “Stop pulling!”

“I’m not pulling!” Derek quips back.

Whatever is caught between them suddenly gives way and falls to the ground on top Derek’s feet.

It’s the red and black jockstrap.

Derek’s eyes go wide at the sight of it resting on his boots. He gets a huge whiff of Stiles’ scent emanating throughout the room and now it’s all over his hand.

Stiles goes redder than the color of the jockstrap. “UHM…!” He stumbles over his words. “Let… I’ll… Uh… I’ll get that!” He drops everything else on the ground and quickly hides the jockstrap behind his back. “Please go shower so I can die of embarrassment in peace,” he blurts out.

“I’m… I’ll go do that,” Derek hurries past him and down the hall, the smell of Stiles’ earlier arousal following him towards the bathroom. ‘ _Oh god…_ ’ Derek thinks to himself as he leans his back against the bathroom door, shutting it closed behind him. The overwhelming scent of Stiles is starting to get the best of his hormones as he looks down at the growing bulge confined by his jeans. 

"Breathe, Derek... Breathe..." he quietly repeats trying to get his urges under control. He attempts to pull his shirt off over his head but the rips and tears make it difficult, snagging on his hands and face. Frustrated, he grabs a hold of it and shreds it into pieces, promptly throwing it into the garbage can. 

The mirror is still fogged from Stiles' earlier shower. Derek slides a hand across it, clearing an area where he can inspect himself properly. He tilts his jaw with his hand, checking his neck and then the other way with his other hand: the hand that was just wrapped around Stiles' jockstrap. He inadvertently inhales a huge whiff of Stiles' pheromones. Derek suddenly can't contain himself any more as It drives him over the edge. 

Derek quickly turns the shower on to drown out any suspicious noises and shucks his jeans and boxer-briefs down his thighs, exposing his fully erect cock to the steam filled room, quietly moaning in relief as he leans his back against the door. He gently tugs on the length of his cock, the other hand still infused with Stiles' scent, running under his nose, over his mouth, grabbing at his lips, his tongue darting out for a taste. He licks the palm of his hand, rubbing it over the head exposed through his foreskin. He firmly grips the base of his shaft with his other hand, pulling his foreskin back, stroking himself with his scented hand. 

"Ah fuck..." he groans with each pump of his fist. He bends down and spits onto the head of his cock for more lube, his hand sliding back and forth with ease. He looks at his fogged silhouette in the mirror as he edges closer to orgasm. A few final pumps sends Derek's come spilling up onto his tensing abs, running down his torso, and dribbling over his fingers. He contently sighs while still feeling somewhat ashamed of his actions as he's overcome with relief. He sticks his come-covered hand under the running water to rinse it off before he finishes undressing and stepping his whole body into the cleansing waters of the shower. 

~~~

Stiles paces awkwardly around his room, doing his best to hide his jockstrap out of sight in the bottom of his laundry hamper before he hears the shower turn on. He checks his bed where Derek was seated earlier for any signs of blood on his blanket but, thankfully, there are none. 

He sits himself down in the same spot where Derek had been, flopping back on his bed and staring at the ceiling, legs kicking the air before dangling off the edge of the mattress. " _What a mess..._ " he sighs to himself, running a hand through his still damp hair. Stiles’ other hand finds itself tenderly rubbing the fresh bruise Derek had left earlier in the day. He presses lightly against it with his fingertips, increasingly testing his pain threshold as he rubs and massages his collarbone. 

He wets his lips as his hand rubs his chest and slowly travels down his body before he finds it playing with the elastic waistband on his pajama pants. He nervously looks over his shoulder at his open bedroom door, the sound of the running shower still echoing down the hall. "Gotta make this quick..." Stiles says before committing to his decision as his hand slides down the front of his pants. With all the pent up sexual aggression from earlier in the day, Stiles is rock-hard in no time as he rubs his cock. He pulls his hand out and shimmies his pants down past his ass, his cock springing free as it points towards the ceiling. 

With one hand on his collarbone, still flirting with the bruise, his other hand is frantically jerking himself off, eager to come before Derek finishes his shower. Stiles takes a hand off of the bruise to roll his shirt up as come sprays on to his stomach, panting breathlessly into the air.

"Much better..." he lets out a sigh of relief as he carefully reaches for the tissues on his bedside table to clean himself up, trying not to spill any come onto his comforter. He quickly wipes himself dry, disposing of the evidence in the garbage can. 

The sound of the shower stops as he adjusts his clothes, tucking himself back into his flannel pants. "Just in time!" he rejoices as if he were getting away with the perfect crime. 

He hears the bathroom door open as Derek approaches from down the hall. "What should I do with the tow-" Derek calls out as he enters the room but abruptly stops as he reaches the door. The overwhelming smell of Stiles’ recent orgasm strongly lingers in his room. If he had heightened senses at all, he’d be able to smell Derek’s same deed.

Stiles can't help but notice Derek's immediate reaction as he scrunches up his nose. "Do I still smell like him...?" he tries to ask innocently. He watches as Derek's eyes dart around the room fixating briefly on the laundry hamper before stopping on the garbage can by his desk. "Oh. Right..." he laughs nervously. "Sorry. I'll get rid of it..." Stiles hurries around and takes the garbage out of his room, moving it to the bathroom. "Better?" Stiles asks returning to his room. 

"I'll deal," Derek answers laying his towel on Stiles desk chair, folded jeans placed neatly on top. "You should get some sleep. I'm sure all of this can't be easy on your mind and body."

"But I jerk off every day? Sometimes twice," he boasts with a certain air of pride for his efforts.

Derek scowls.

"Rightttttt. Hypnosis. Got it."

"At least your sense of humor is still there," Derek shakes his head in disbelief. "I think you're gonna be alright," he smiles at Stiles. 

"Until I have to move..." Stiles sighs. 

"Don't worry about that right now. Get some rest," he motions towards Stiles' bed with a tilt of his head.

"What about you?" Stiles asks as he folds back the blanket, sliding his feet under. 

"I'll still be here in the morning. Gonna need to talk to your dad," he answers positioning himself into the armchair in Stiles room. 

"You gonna be okay sleeping there?"

"Just worry about yourself for a bit."

Stiles scrunches up his brow before hurling a pillow across the room at Derek, pegging him in the face.

"What the hell, Stiles?" Derek yells but Stiles is now laying down with one less pillow on his bed. Derek can feel himself blush. "Th...thanks," he mutters tucking the pillow behind his neck in an attempt to make himself comfortable in his cramped sleeping quarters.

"Goodnight, Derek," Stiles calls out. 

"Night," Derek answers back. 

~~~~~

"Stiles?" a voice calls out early the next morning following by a knocking. "Are you in there?"

"Mmm...come in," Stiles groans still mostly asleep. 

Rubbing the morning sleep from his eyes, hair askew, Stiles sees Derek already awake and stirring in his makeshift bed as his dad enters, immediately noting Derek curled up in a chair way too small for someone his size, greeting him with a nod.

"Hey..." his father starts before pointing to Derek and back to his son. 

"Yeah, I remember everything..." he sighs, sitting up in bed. 

"Aw geez, kid. I'm sorry."

"It's fine I guess. We tried..." Stiles trails off. 

"How did-" his father starts. 

"Long story... Don't want to get into it. Ever," he grumbles, looking at Derek. 

The sheriff looks between Stiles and Derek before turning towards the werewolf. "Wait. If you're here... Does this mean you and him...?" he asks Derek, pointing between him and Stiles again. 

"Me and him what?" Stiles says, confused at his dad's behavior. 

Stiles notices Derek trying to discretely stop the sheriff from continuing his train of thought to no avail. "You went with the third plan after all?" Stiles' dad asks. 

"Third plan?" Stiles immediately perks up. "What third plan? Nobody told me there was a third plan!"

Derek rolls his eyes before glaring at Stiles' dad. "Well, I hadn't brought it up to him yet," he snaps. "Figured it was too soon after the hypnosis and wanted to give him some time to recover."

"What's the third plan?" Stiles asks again only to be ignored. 

"Do you think he's actually going to agree to it? I mean... I thought this was why we went with hypnosis," his dad says to Derek.

"Hello?! Somebody tell me what's going on!"

"Only one way to find out," Derek shrugs. 

Stiles suddenly appears between Derek and his dad, startling them both. "Talk!” he glares at his dad. “Now!" he snaps at Derek. He receives an uncomfortable look from Derek while his dad remains silent.

"Think you can give Stiles and me a moment?" Derek motions at the door with his head.

"Oh. Sure." Stiles' dad walks over and shuts the door staying in the room with Derek and Stiles. 

"I meant just us," Derek corrects him. 

"Oh, right, right. Sorry," the sheriff apologizes as he excuses himself. 

"Derek?" Stiles asks as they're now alone in his room. "What's going on? What is this plan that has you so worked up?"

Derek sighs, awkwardly fidgeting in the chair, notably out of character for the normally stoic and grounded werewolf. "This is a big deal Stiles. It'll change your life forever."

"Like having Deaton alter my memories wouldn’t?" Stiles laughs it off.

"I'm being serious," Derek growls. "We didn't suggest it before because it changes everything and won't just affect you..." he trails off avoiding eye contact. 

"Derek? C’mon. Just tell me."

Derek reluctantly looks back up at Stiles. "You might want to be sitting down for this."

Stiles looks at his bed and shuffles towards it, resting the back of his thighs against it before reconnecting with Derek's eyes. "Alright. Lay it on me."

Derek sighs and takes a deep breath before speaking again. "We need to find you a mate. A werewolf mate."

"A _werewolf_ mate?" Stiles repeats in a state of disbelief. "Like, a sexual partner? Wait, is that why Peter was all up in my business?"

Derek nods. "We knew Peter was up to something. We just didn't think he'd move this quickly...Sorry."

"For what?"

"I should have acted sooner. I should have been there,” Derek laments.

“But you were? You got me out of there. You _were_ there for me. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Stiles comforts him reassuringly.

Derek shakes his head. “I tried to keep my distance from you to not break the hypnosis against my better judgement. I really didn't think he'd choose _you_ for a mate. Or if he did, so soon."

"He wanted to mate with me? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or disgusted."

"He was probably trying to start a new pack and took full advantage of your hypnosis situation while you were released from Scott’s pack. Mating has to be a consensual process for both parties. He knew it would never happen if you remembered who he was.”

"Yeah, I'm gonna go with disgusted. How would this whole mate stuff affect our pack?" Stiles asks.

"A mate will give you a connection with someone on a level that will allow you to be protected. To be safe," Derek explains. 

"So it's just sex?" 

Derek shakes his head. "In the wild, wolves mate for life, Stiles. Werewolves are no different. This is a lifelong commitment for you and your mate as long as you're a part of Scott's pack. It's a vow you form with your mate that cannot be broken."

"How do I choose a mate? Is there like an online site I can browse my options?” Stiles asks almost excited at the thought. “I can see my profile headline already: 'Gangly, pale, sarcastic seeks cuddly wolf.' Sounds like a winner to me!"

"It's not that simple," Derek chuckles at Stiles’ sharp wit. "It needs to be a member of your pack.”

"So..." Stiles thinks. "That means Scott or..." he trails off as he makes eye contact with Derek who simply nods. "Well, that's not awkward whatsoever."

"It's a lot to ask of a person... We all realized that, which is why we went with hypnotizing you before bringing up mating, or even suggesting it," Derek sighs reclining back in the chair. 

"What did everyone say?"

"Lydia didn't think you'd go for it, your dad was happy with whatever option kept you safe, and Scott..." Derek starts laughing. 

"Scott? What about Scott?" Stiles asks. 

"He wanted to be the one for you."

"Oh…” Stiles thinks for a moment. “OHHHHH! Gross. No. I don't think I could do that. He's my bestfriend but I just... Ya know..." he makes a strange face while waving his hands. "The thought alone is making me feel funny."

"Wouldn't be Scott. He has too much responsibility to have a mate and lead a pack at his age..."

"Soooooooo..." Stiles starts as he feels himself becoming flushed having already figured out the answer to the question he hasn't yet asked. 

Derek simply nods. 

"Wow," Stiles says nervously. "Seriously? You? I mean... Seriously?"

Derek nods again. "If it makes his pack stronger and keeps you safe, I'll do what I have to do."

"And what you have to do...is me?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "You can't take anything seriously, can you?"

"Sorry. I'm just... I mean. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now and humor is how I cope. It's not every day someone you consider a friend proposes the idea of sex to keep you safe."

"It's more than that, though. You're building a lifelong bond with someone. A connection. Dare I say it, a relationship."

Stiles' demeanor changes ever-so-slightly. Subtle enough that a human wouldn't notice but enough that someone like Derek would. His heartbeat increases as he shuffles his weight from leg to leg. "I... don't know if I can do this..."

"And I'm not going to force you. But… know that I wouldn't do this for just anybody. It's something to consider. To keep you safe. Think about it, okay?"

Derek waits for an answer that Stiles doesn't provide. Stiles just stares at his feet non-responsively. He doesn't react as Derek gets up to leave, doesn't say any parting words as Derek leaves his room. He hears the muffled voices of Derek and his dad talking followed by the engine of the Camaro pulling away from his house. 

Stiles' dad peeks his head into his room not long after the sound of Derek's car can no longer be heard. "Up for some breakfast before I head to bed?" he asks. 

Stiles shakes his head.

"Everything okay, son? What do you think?"

Stiles shrugs. 

The sheriff stands in the doorway waiting for some sort of verbal response but doesn't receive one from Stiles. 

He sighs defeatedly. "If you want to talk about it, let me know. I'm going to get some rest..."

The last thing Stiles wants to do is talk to his dad about having sex. With Derek. His mind is reeling from the past few days. Stiles flops back on to his bed, arms stretched above his head reaching for his pillow. " _His mate...?_ " Stiles is tormented at the mere thought, smushing the pillow on top of his face, arms dropping limply to his sides. He drifts back to sleep, mind still exhausted from the past twelve hours of revelations.

His buzzing phone wakes him several hours later to missed calls and texts from both Scott and Lydia.

He quickly sends a message to both Scott and Lydia: _Coffee house. 30 minutes. Be there._

~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't even know where to begin..." Stiles says as his hands surround the hot cup of coffee in front of him. "I’m not even going to talk about Peter. He’s not worth the breath,” he pauses to regain composure. “Like… How do you go from friends to being someone's mate? For life? The word alone bothers me. I can't even wrap my head around the idea of it."

It’s still early in the afternoon at the coffee shop where Stiles works. He, Scott, and Lydia sit in a quiet corner booth away from the rest of the customers, able to talk in private about Stiles’ situation. Stiles is nervous and clearly bothered as his hands idly play with the lid of coffee cup.

"Maybe you're thinking too much about it?" Scott suggests from across the table. "I mean, yes, it's a big deal but it's not one you're making alone."

"Whatdya mean?"

"Think about it. Derek’s going out on a limb for you. None of us knew this was even feasible until Derek mentioned it could work,” Scott answers.

"Wait. It was Derek's idea for him to choose me as a mate?"

"All Derek," Scott answers again. "He brought it up while you were in the hospital and your dad was looking for something...anything to keep you safe."

"Then why did you guys only ask me to be hypnotized?"

"Because of this! Look at yourself!" Lydia motions towards Stiles. "The idea alone is driving you bonkers. I haven't seen you freaking out this much in years,” she sips her drink. “And that’s saying a lot when it comes to you."

"Hello?! Because it's Derek! Derek, the grizzly werewolf who only now has started to smile and joke around with us after how many years? I never expected him to be like 'Oh hey Stiles. Let's have sex. It’ll keep you safe!'" Stiles mocks in his best Derek impression. "That sort of shit isn't normal conversation."

"If you haven't noticed, Derek and I aren't exactly normal," Scott laughs as he blows on his hot chocolate to cool it down before taking a drink. 

“Maybe he _likes_ you?” Lydia nonchalantly drops into the conversation between sips.

Stiles spits his coffee across the table, Scott barely diving out of the way. “LYDIA! WHAT THE HELL?” he snaps wiping coffee from his chin. Caitlin throws a cloth at Stiles from behind the counter as he nods with gratitude, cleaning up the mess he created. “He does _not_ like me. At least not like that. We’re all friends!”

“Are you sure, Stiles?” Scott quizzes him.

Stiles eyes glance between Scott and Lydia. “Well now I’m not so sure of myself that you guys are acting like this…”

“Do you think Derek would offer to have sex with just anyone?” Scott asks.

“Well…”

"And you've seen the way he looks at you, right?” Lydia continues before Stiles can finish his answer.

Stiles thinks back to his recent interactions with Derek: in his room, in the club, in Deaton’s clinic, in the hospital; and is reminded of the expressions on his face, the looks in his eyes. Eyes that say everything Derek can't express with his words.

“Okay yeah sure. But a few stray looks doesn’t mean anything,” he flippantly retorts.

“Stiles,” Lydia reaches down, grabbing his hands to get his attention, looking him in the eye. “You know why I know that look?”

“Why’s that?” he rolls his eyes.

“Because it’s the same way you used to look at me.”

Stiles freezes. “What…? No… He can’t… You really think so?” he stumbles over his words in a state of shock as his processes the situation.

Lydia simply nods contently as she sips her latté.

Stiles hands fall on his temples as he looks distraught. “Well, I guess it makes a bit of sense now that I think about it. He did say the r-word when we were talking this morning.”

Scott’s eyes go wide as he looks between Lydia and Stiles before he leans over the table. “Like,” he whispers “...Rimming?”

Stiles sprays his coffee across the table again. 

“SCOTT!” Lydia smacks him with the back of her hand.

“Oh my god.” Stiles wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. “While I’m sure it’s involved in the mating stuff in some way, no, Scott, we did not talk about rimming. It was 'Relationship'," Stiles air quotes as he slouches back in the booth. “It’s bad enough my dad already assumed Derek and I fucked when he found us this morning. Now all my friends are gonna know about my sex life too.”

“As opposed to now when we all know that you don’t have one?” Lydia burns him.

"Ouch, Lydia. That hurts!" Stiles whines trying not to smile at her joke. 

"Would it really be so bad though?" she asks. "Derek's a pretty good catch. And he's asking _you_ out. If anything, you should be flattered."

"Believe me, I am,” he sips his drink.

“So what did you say to him?” Scott asks.

“Umm… Nothing?”

Lydia’s eyes go wide as she stares at Stiles in disbelief. “The poor guy poured his heart out to you in the only way he knows and you didn’t give him an answer?!”

“And what was I supposed to say?” Stiles replies. “Sure, Derek, let’s fuck while my dad waits downstairs. Gimme a sec to lube up and hop on your dick.”

She sighs in frustration. “You know what I mean.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Scott looks at Stiles over the rim of his cup.

“Well I’m sure as hell not going to Poland…” he scoffs back.

“Then you’re gonna have to talk to Derek,” Scott says between sips. “You’re dad isn’t gonna let you put this off forever.”

Stiles sighs. “I know… I’m just not sure how… Or when…”

“How about now?” Scott glances towards the door of the coffee shop just as Derek enters and makes his way over towards their table.

“Why is he _here_?!” Stiles panics.

“I invited him so you and him could talk.”

“Lydia! Lydia, move!” Stiles dives across Lydia’s lap in an attempt to escape his inside seat of the booth. 

“HEY! What are you doing?! These are designer leggings!” she screams as Stiles is crawling over her thighs, scrambling and flailing his limbs to get past her.

He gets caught up between Lydia and the table before he’s greeted by a pair of black combat boots appearing on the ground in front of him. Stiles’ eyes reluctantly glance upwards to meet Derek’s staring back down at him as he’s sprawled across the lap of a very distressed Lydia.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy, Derek,” Stiles forces a smile to his face despite his awkward position splayed out across Lydia.

“Not even gonna ask,” he greets Stiles back, removing his aviators and hanging them from his shirt collar.

“Whatdya want to drink?” Lydia asks as she forcefully pushes herself out from under Stiles and out of the booth. “My treat,” she winks with a smirk on her face motioning him towards her now vacant seat beside Stiles.

Derek looks over his shoulder and quickly scans the menu hanging up behind the counter. “Large Earl Grey, milk, no sugar. Thanks,” he smiles. He waits as Stiles corrects himself back upright and sliding into the booth beside him.

Stiles immediately feels awkward as he’s pinned on the inside of the booth, Derek’s large frame looming. He can feel the heat emanating from Derek as they sit side-by-side, mere inches apart. Stiles’ hands grip the edge of the bench as he stares mindlessly into his drink, the droning sounds of Scott and Derek making small talk buzzing in his ears.

Lydia storms back to the table in a huff, clutch purse open in her hands. "My card came up declined. Can someone spot me?"

"Don't worry. I got it," Scott quickly jumps at the opportunity, following Lydia back to the counter.

"Thanks, Scott. Sorry, Derek!"

"Don't worry about it."

Stiles’ grip tightens on the soft cushions of the bench as he's now alone in the booth with Derek.

"Why are you so tense?" Derek asks Stiles as his eyes wander around the store, glancing over towards Scott and Lydia as they settle the bill for his tea.

Stiles stares accusingly at Derek's profile. "I'm not tense," he nervously answers.

"Your heart is going a million miles a minute." Stiles jumps as he feels a hand fall overtop of his, fingers interlacing across the back of his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles," Derek says in a calming voice.

Stiles can feel himself blushing as Derek reassuringly squeezes his hand. "I know..."

"Then what are you so afraid of?"

Par for the course, Stiles doesn’t answer.

Stiles glances past Derek as Scott and Lydia make their way back to the table, making ever-so-brief eye contact with Scott, who quickly averts his eyes. He knows Scott heard everything. Stiles' immediate reaction is to pull his hand out from under Derek's. As his hand twitches in response, he feels Derek relent slightly, loosening his grip on Stiles' fingers.

Stiles pauses. Derek wasn't forcing him to keep his hand there. There was enough space between the bench and Derek’s hand that Stiles could easily remove his own. Stiles takes a deep breath before allowing his hand to relax back onto the bench, welcoming Derek’s fingers back between his own.

“Here you go,” Lydia says as she places a drink down in front of Derek.

“Thanks, Lyd,” he smiles at her as she shuffles to the inside of the booth, followed by Scott.

Lydia’s eyes lock on the pair of arms that are joining together just out of sight underneath the edge of the table and then at Stiles. She smiles at him as she gently taps his shin with her foot under the table.

Stiles smiles back and ducks his head in an attempt to hide his flushed cheeks.

“So, how does this all work exactly?” Stiles asks in an effort to calm his nerves. “We don’t have to like file paperwork or something to some Werewolf League or anything, right?”

Derek chuckles to himself. “No, it’s not _that_ formal. It’s a bit of a process though.”

“How’s it go?”

“Yeah. I’m sure I could benefit from this knowledge someday,” Scott chimes in, eager to hear more.

“I’m not an expert by any means. I have some knowledge on werewolf-werewolf mates. It’s a bit different when it’s werewolf-human.”

Stiles eyes go wide. “Oh my g-”

Derek sighs as he hears Stiles’ heartbeat accelerating once again. He leans over and whispers into Stiles’ ear, “All the anatomy stuff is the same. We’ll talk about that when you’re ready. In private, okay?” he lightly squeezes Stiles’ hand. Derek sits back upright as he tries to ignore the gleeful look on Scott’s face knowing full well he just heard everything. “What I was _going_ to say was scenting.”

“Scenting?” Scott questions as he takes on a more serious tone.

“It’ll act as a deterrent. A human smelling like a werewolf is very unusual and will ward off nearly all supernatural threats. Knowing there is a werewolf attached to a human, protecting them, is asking for trouble.”

“So, I’m gonna smell like you?” Stiles can’t help but scrunch his nose up at the thought.

Derek nods. “To those who can notice it. We’re going to have to spend time together in close quarters but it should take effect pretty quickly with everything...else…” Derek trails off as he tries to avoid the sex subject again.

“But I hang out with Scott all the time? Why doesn’t that work?” he gestures between him and Scott with his free hand.

“The capacity in which you’ll be around me will be different than what you and Scott have,” Derek explains calmly. “But it’s not just scenting. The connections we’ll be building are mental, emotional, and physical. It’ll develop almost like… a spiritual link of sorts?” he stumbles with his words.

“Like...intuition?” Lydia suggests with some uncertainty in her voice.

“Yeah, that’s a good way to describe it.”

“Then,” he pauses as he collects his thoughts, looking up at Derek under his raised brow. “You’ll know when I’m in danger and need your help?” Stiles suddenly perks up.

Derek can’t help but notice that for the first time through all of this, Stiles actually seems on board with the plan. “If it works, which it should, yeah.” The corners of his lips turn up slightly as he watches Stiles’ face light up with joy.

“I’m gonna have my own werewolf bodyguard. Pretty cool, huh?!” he grins from ear to ear mischievously while gloating to Lydia and Scott.

“Hey, now!” Derek protests somewhat jokingly. “This is still serious, Stiles. It’s not a fool proof plan but it’s the best we have to keep you safe and keep you in Beacon Hills. And we’ll make do with that.”

“So what’s next?” Stiles asks, still giddy from the recent developments.

“We need to talk more about the arrangements and how we’re gonna move forward as mates.”

“Ooohhh,” Scott catcalls from across the table before both Stiles and Derek cut him a look. “Look! You guys are already acting the same!”

“It’s like a match made from Cupid’s arrow,” Lydia sings charmingly much to their disdain as they both turn various shades of red.

“You guys are the worst,” Stiles laughs nervously before a smile appears on his face. “Thanks.”

“As long as this keeps you safe and sound, we’re here for you,” Scott smiles back. “ _Both_ of you. I gotta take off for work though. I’ll let Deaton know the hypnosis is done, that you’re okay, and we’re trying something else.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Derek extends his gratitude. “We’ll make this work.”

“I’ll leave you two newlyweds to talk about this,” Lydia winks following Scott. “Later, boys.”

Stiles and Derek sit together in awkward silence, Derek casually sipping his drink while Stiles fidgets uncomfortably beside him, their hands still intertwined. “You wanna go somewhere else?” Derek asks.

“Like where?” Stiles nervously asks back.

“My place. Stay the night? We can have dinner, talk stuff over, answer any lingering questions you might have, maybe get us used to being around each other?”

“I open tomorrow morning so it can’t be a late night for me. And no funny stuff, mister,” Stiles jokes.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. Everything is going to happen at your pace. You’re in control of the situation and it’ll play out when you want it and only when you’re ready.”

“That’s...good to know,” he says with some hesitation.

“But also be aware, the longer you wait, the less I can do to protect you. Until then, I’ll try my best.”

Stiles’ heart warms over hearing Derek’s kind words echo in his ears. He lets out a deep sigh as he relaxes himself against Derek’s arm. Maybe. Just maybe, this could all actually work out.


End file.
